Unmasked
by remonrime
Summary: For the longest time Dib never thought Zim was serious, and much to his chagrin, this time Zim was serious. ZaDr


**A/N: Okay, this is my first ZaDr fic. I've been reading them for a long time now, but I barely scurried up the courage to write one. I hope it's okay. Please read and review?**

**Title: Unmasked  
**

**Rating: T (will go up in later chapters)**

**Genre: Angst/Romance/Horror**

**Summary: For the longest time, Dib never thought Zim was serious, much to his chagrin, this time Zim was serious. ZaDr  
**

* * *

**Chapter One: The Underground.**

It was hard listening to his music when that old crane's garbled voice kept blaring into his ear.

"Dib, pay attention, fool!" she half-shouted, her yellowing teeth sliding pass her chapped lips. She looked much like a sniveling rat munching away at its food, elongated front-teeth grating away. Dib cocked his head and stared up at her, mentally wincing at the repelling sight of his US History teacher, Mrs. Ridden. Her shoulders were hunched and her wrinkled neck was protruding from her shoulders at an odd angle, her beady eyes narrowed into slits as she fumed over him. Really, he'd rather stare at a puddle of vomit than her.

"Get that thing out before I rip your whole ear off!" she concluded. Despite being as old as the hills, Mrs. Ridden managed to quickly spin around and shuffled back to the front of the classroom, her back bent unnaturally. Dib could compare her likeness to the Hunchback, and instead of listening to her, Dib merely shrugged his shoulders and didn't even bother to remove his ear-piece. He grabbed his notebook from his book-bag and opened it up to a clean, crisp page, where he then took out a lead pencil and began doodling. He drew random things, from swirling tattoo-like designs to miniature comics involving stick people – anything to get his mind off Mrs. Ridden's horrible drawled out lectures.

'_I wouldn't even have to be this bored,_' Dib thought dryly to himself, pressing the tip of his lead pencil hard against the paper. He shot a quick glance to the opposite side of the room, where his arch-nemesis sat limply in his chair, purple-lensed eyes anchored on Mrs. Ridden. '_He's up to something big this time, I just know it._'

For the past month, the green alien had been anything but his usual self, which usually consisted of yelling, screaming, shouting, and an intense case of self-centered ego. The behavior he was now sporting was anything but the norm for Dib, and if he didn't know any better he guessed that Zim was up to something no-good. He didn't quite know what exactly, but he'd find out sooner or later. Wasn't like he wouldn't be able to stop him -- for years now he had been playing a relentless game of cat and mouse with the Irken invader, and to Dib, it seemed that they would always play that game until one of them actually went through and won. Of course, Dib didn't have to worry about losing in that department; Zim was an empty threat, a maniacal psychopath whose mind was too jumbled to achieve anything, let alone take over the Earth. But just to be safe . . .

'_I'll need to plan a day to sneak into his base again and plant new cameras,_' Dib mused, setting his lead pencil down. He pressed the tip of his index finger at the top of the paper and slowly dragged it down, smudging the lead inscribed there. When he made it to the bottom of the page, all he could see were a bunch of intact doodles along the sides of the paper divided by a line of dark lead smudge.

A month ago, he had managed to break into Zim's underground lab thanks to months of scouting and mapping out the alien's fortress. He realized that the only time Zim was actually away from his base was when he had to go the nearby grocery store with Gir and buy more glue to coat himself with. This left ample time for Dib to get past the garden gnomes and sneak down into the underground. The mission had gone successfully – Dib had planted numerous spy cameras in random crevices and dark corners of the lab, and when he had gotten home, he had rushed to his room and pasted himself to his swivel chair, wide eyes scanning a multitude of old computer screens that were bought at a thrfit store and were custom wired to receive signals and transmissions given the right equipment.

Unfortunately, after only two days of covert surveillance, Zim had managed to locate each and every spy camera, thus smashing them to bits in a fit of rage. That was the only time Dib had been truly irked by the alien's behavior, for when Zim had spotted the first camera, he had looked directly into it and snarled, gnashing his zippered teeth with disdain. Zim hadn't laughed in the camera's face or listed out Dib's obvious failure in surveillance – he had said nothing, but merely narrowed those vermilion eyes into tapered slits. Dib couldn't help but shiver and think that Zim was hiding something.

"Blah, blah, blah . . . Junior thesis . . . blah, blah, blah," was all that Dib could hear from Mrs. Ridden, one ear trained on the plethora of guitar rifts and raging drum beats pumping into his left ear, while the other really wasn't paying attention at all. It seemed that his whole body wasn't paying attention to much, except for the one eye that kept shooting brief glances towards Zim's way, none of them being returned with so much as a hint of recognition.

'_Damn him! He's doing this on purpose!_' Dib snarled under his breath, slamming his fist onto his desk table. For the rest of the class period, Dib continued his shady surveillance of the Irken sitting unmoving across the room, watching how Zim would sometimes lean back in his chair and prop his three fingered hands across his stomach, wide-lensed eyes scanning the front of the room lethargically. And when the bell rang, scaring Dib out of his small trance, Zim had quickly shuffled his materials into his modified back-pack PAK and swiftly left the room.

Dib bit at his lip and followed suit, dumping his notebook into his book-bag and strapping the thing around his shoulder. He left the classroom with determination written on his face.

* * *

The clouds were gathering overhead, twirling and wisping together like fumes of acrid smoke.

School had ended 20 minutes ago and Dib was about 15 feet behind the Irken who was walking in front, skinny arms dangling limply at his sides. Dib could hear the clacking sound resound from Zim's boots, which clipped across the pavement in quick and even strides. Dib knew that Zim knew he was following him, for Zim would occasionally pique his head and look over his shoulder, but never enough for Dib to actually see his eyes.

Dib almost tripped when Zim suddenly halted in his tracks, arms still hanging loosely at his sides. A few strands of jagged black hair from his wig brushed across his neck as a fleeting breeze waved by.

"What is it, Dib-filth?" Zim bit out, not once turning 'round to address the other. Dib managed a gulp before he composed himself and stood up straight, heaving out his chest in an act to preserve his pride and quick wit.

"You shouldn't have to ask, Zim, you know already," Dib countered, never moving from his spot. Zim finally turned around at that, crossing his lithe arms over his chest in a complete guise of arrogance. He stuck out his chin and flashed his trademark zipper grin, his eyes slanting.

"You're insane, earth-stink," Zim drawled on, and in an instant, his smirk vanished and his eyes narrowed, all previous traces of mirth and haughtiness gone with the wind. "Now quit stalking me, you human meat-sack, before I rip your legs off." Zim then whirled around and continued on his way, his footsteps more quick than before. On the other hand, Dib flexed his fingers and curled them into his palms, his hands forming into fists. After nearly five years dealing with the infuriating Irken invader, Dib had never really learned how to channel the insults Zim always threw at him. Of course, he should have found some way to ignore them, but Dib couldn't help the swell of anger that rose in him whenever that exasperating alien opened that large mouth of his.

Feeling snubbed, Dib continued walking, his book-bag banging into the side of his leg. Zim had gotten pretty far, considering his fast pace, but Dib could still make out the alien from his line of vision. Much to his chagrin, Zim had in fact grown in the past five years, and Dib had many theories as to why such a phenomena would occur. During the last three years, Dib had compiled all the information he knew about the Irken race, gathering together piles upon piles of observation notes, data recordings and surveillance tapings. Sure, it was a make-shift attempt at gathering information involving an extraterrestrial being, but considering the lack of credibility he was often pummeled with from his peers and even his own family, Dib didn't care how he presented the information, just as long as he actually had information to present. That, and Dib simply lacked sufficient equipment to get him along in his findings, not like the equipment used in The Swollen Eyeball.

Back to Zim's sudden growth spurt. Dib knew that the entirety of Irken government relied solely on height, and he already knew that Irkens in general were rather short, save for The Tallest who happened to be the only two individuals drastically taller than all the rest. Zim had been short when he first arrived on Earth via Voot Cruiser, ruling out the possibility of him ever being Tallest. Either Zim had invented some sort of growth serum during the years he resided on Earth, or the planet's gravity was simply less dense than on Irk, allowing the alien to grow. Unfortunately, and it was a rather unpleasant thing to think about, Zim now stood eye level with Dib, give or take a few inches.

It kind of sucked when you couldn't look down at your enemy anymore.

* * *

Dib's skin was crawling.

Well, maybe not literally, but figuratively speaking. He looked up at his ceiling ridden with taped-on notes and unofficial floor plans replicating Zim's base out of pure memory, and from his position scrawled across his bed, Dib was finding it hard to train his mind off the invader. He just knew Zim was up to something horrible, if that look he had on that perverse green face of his while smashing that first surveillance tape gave away anything, and his odd behavior since that day didn't do much to quell the worry and anxiety slowly suffocating the angst-laden teen.

Dib sat up from his bed, rubbing the corners of his eyes to rid himself of the gunk that had accumulated there. He looked over to his window, past the grimy glass that hadn't had a decent wipe-down since forever, and looked out into the night sky. Sure, he couldn't see the stars and didn't think he would ever get to see them while on Earth, considering the various forms of pollution hindering the planet, but Dib decided that he would have to make do observing the flickering of the city street lights.

"Fuck this," Dib whispered hoarsely, quickly scampering off his bed. He trudged over to his closet and yanked his favorite trench coat out, the one he had gotten at a thrift store about a year ago. It was laden with zippers and sewn on patches of his favorite circus-rock bands, and the material was neither too thick nor too thin to trouble him less a rapid change in the weather occurred. After pulling on his coat, he then shuffled over to one of his desk drawers littered with papers and pencils and photos, and pulled a drawer open. He stuck his hand inside and shuffled around the various contents wadded up in there, until his fingers ghosted over the familiar shape of his digital camera and mini camcorder. Stuffing his two treasures into the interior pockets lining his coat, Dib sauntered out the door of his bedroom.

* * *

After hours slaving away underground, (researching, always researching!) Zim had decided to call it quits for the night and retired to the upper level of the house via the toilet. Once exiting the porcelain god, Zim fastened his glove-clad arms behind his back and tilted his head up, extending his spider-length legs one in front of the other. Even enclosed within the confines of his base, Zim had to maintain a constant air of authority, of superiority – any flaw would surely lead to his -- .

"TAQUITOS!"

Zim nearly tripped, but managed to gain a foothold in his balance and immediately righted himself, snapping a heated and fiery glare at the chaotic bundle of metal staring up at him with saucer-shaped eyes.

"Gir," Zim nodded, trying his best to keep from spitting at the idiotic thing. Gir opened his mouth to say something, but as if he thought against it, he didn't say anything and just let his mouth hang open. His eyes shrunk into slits of mirth, his tiny body jiggling with contained happiness at seeing his master back from the depths of his underground lab. Zim noticed with disgust that Gir was carrying a platter of miniature tube-like things, flexible in substance and packed to the brim with shredded meat and stinky cheese. To the invader, the food-things resembled the epitome of human filth.

"Do ya' want a taquito?" Gir asked with gaiety, tilting his head. He held the platter up higher, which was now dripping with thick and sloppy grease. It splashed onto the already dirtied floor tiles, coating the floor with a new layer of grime. Zim grimaced, flashing his dagger-like teeth.

"No, Gir," the Irken replied curtly, stepping around the infuriating robot, however Gir didn't seem to take the hint and quickly side-stepped the invader, planting his tiny self in front of Zim. Gir suddenly let out a shrill laugh, plucking a taquito from the platter and threw it at Zim, where it splashed against the front of his uniform and slowly slid down. Gir watched it drop to the floor with a sickening plop, and he laughed again.

"Imbecile!" Zim shrieked, but quickly calmed himself, already too used to the idiotic ministrations of his defected SIR unit. He simply shot a curt glare down at the 'bot and walked away towards the moth-eaten couch sitting lack-luster in the living quarters of his base.

"Awwww, you didn't eat your taquito!" he heard the robot comment behind him, high-pitched voice laced with sorrow. However, his sudden bout of gloom quickly diminished as Gir trotted along behind his Master, the alloy stubs of his legs clinking across the floor. "Are we gonna' watch sumfin' now? Do ya' still want a TAQUITO?!" He began laughing again, his laughter ricocheting off the walls of the base and transmitting some rather painful signals to Zim's hinged antennae.

Zim ignored the ramblings of his SIR unit and took a seat on the couch, his body sinking into the cushions. He crossed his gloved arms across his red-striped uniform, still slick with grease from the taquito, and made a scowl, his face twisting in irritation. He had spent the better half of the night slaving away underground, as for the past month, since he had gotten that horrendous intergalactic transmission. When the signal had cut off, he had been enraged, perhaps even more so! Oh, how infuriated he was, maddened with a rage so concentrated that it seemed to override his senses for the briefest of seconds before he had managed to get a hold of himself. He would have gladly let the recesses of his mind take control of him, he would have been even happier to have let the rage consume his sense of thought until there was nothing left but the vindictive and venomous Irken soldier he was trained to be, but for the sake of the plans that were already starting to tinker away in his mind, Zim held back and managed to filter his thoughts into coherency.

Indeed, for the sake of everything he was plotting, Zim had to withhold from his usual self-righteous persona, even if it did lead to unwanted suspicions from the Dib. Zim snarled at the name, his reptilian tongue darting crudely across his lips. He would let the human stink-worm worry and prod around with his questioning – it would be that much more enjoyable when the surprise hit that big head of his.

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**A/N: Please leave a review if you can!**


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